


Soft Place to Land

by thechapwiththearms



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caroline doesn't...exist, Doctor/Patient, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mention of major character death, Post-Canon, Rare Pairings, Season 4 Spoilers, Season 5 Spoilers, Short & Sweet, Soft tbh, Spoilers, Very Brief Mention of Suicidal Ideation, bi george, gay dwight, sorry caroline, this is badly written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 17:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechapwiththearms/pseuds/thechapwiththearms
Summary: Dwight and George haven't talked in a while.
Relationships: Dwight Enys/George Warleggan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Soft Place to Land

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-season 5. This is literally just the product of me being sad that these two didn't get a lot of screen time together after George got better. Only diversion from canon is that Dwight is Gay™️ and, as such, never married Caroline.

**7:30 a.m.**

Dwight awoke with a start, to the sound of someone rapping firmly on his front door. Somewhat dazed and squinting at the light filtering through the gap between his curtains, he stumbled out of bed and made his way over to the source of the noise. Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a man whom, due to his unmistakably ornate pink livery, he was able to ascertain was George Warleggan’s manservant. With an unsuccessful attempt to suppress his surprise -- and slight elation -- that George would think to write to him at all, let alone this early, Dwight gratefully accepted the letter offered by the servant. As the latter rode away, Dwight remained stood in the doorway began to read:

_Dwight,_

_I am aware that it has been a while since our last meeting. For this, I can only apologise profusely and sincerely. Upon our last encounter I was in no state to express the gratitude I felt -- and still feel -- at your immeasurable help in curing me of my despair. As such, I hope you will attend tea with me this afternoon at Cardew._

_Yours,  
G. W._

George was right. It had been months now since he and Dwight had seen one another, and the last time they met had been under less than ideal circumstances; the physician was summoned to help with George’s seemingly incurable depression at Elizabeth’s death. He had witnessed the typically well-composed man fall apart before his eyes. After a while, though, Dwight was able to get through to the lamenting man and force him to face his feelings head-on, which was more of a surprise to the doctor than anyone else. Now, Dwight did not underestimate his skill as a physician - after all, he had cut his teeth on the battlefields of Virginia, but George seemed so far gone that he genuinely worried that even the most experienced doctor would have trouble ‘fixing' him. It was less as a doctor, however, and more as a friend that Dwight had finally broken George’s depressive trance - no powders or potions were needed, it would seem. Only reassurance and affection.

In the months succeeding George’s recovery, the pair had scarcely seen one another at all, save for the occasional friendly glance whilst passing in opposite directions through Truro. Neither man was quite sure why they -- or, indeed, the other -- neglected to get in touch. It could not be further from the truth that they were purposefully avoiding one another; in fact, Dwight had often wished for the company of his new acquaintance. After the strange circumstances of their meeting, it would seem that both felt wary of another encounter, lest their friendship be tarnished by the regularity of society. What if the extraordinary means by which Dwight was able to help George was all that united them? What if they were destined to return to enmity?

_______________________________________

**3:49 p.m.**

Nonetheless, that afternoon, Dwight decided to take George up on his offer. The invitation had sparked something deep within him that urged him to go, to see the man he had thought so often about since he had helped him earlier in the year. Specifically, the banker’s use of “yours” is what had surprised and enamoured Dwight the most -- George was not one to give his affections away freely, and although the letter was predestination enough, this hint of warmth implied in its final word was enough to ensnare the reader in the Warleggan trap. He wondered briefly why this was.

After painstakingly, and somewhat embarrassingly, attempting to assemble an impressive ensemble from the few finer pieces of clothing he owned, Dwight gave a huff and simply opted for a rather plain neckcloth to finish off his outfit. With a last indifferent glance in the mirror, he scooped up his satchel from beside his bed (although this was merely a social call, Dwight always made sure to carry it with him as he was often called away urgently) and stepped into his riding boots. With that, he was away.

Riding like the wind towards Cardew, Dwight looked beyond the expanses of land stretching before him at the cliffs over Nampara cove. Not six months prior, he had caught sight of a forlorn George Warleggan standing at the helm of one of these cliffs, entirely ready to take his own life. Despite any past vitriol between the two men, the decent, understanding side of Dwight meant that he could not, in good conscience, leave the helpless man to his fate. The following few weeks had been intensely emotional for both of them, Dwight nursing George back to some semblance of good health. They had bonded, perhaps even come to enjoy one another's company -- against all odds.

And now, the tired physician was approaching George's sprawling estate. Despite having seen it numerous times before, Dwight could not help but stare in awe; he could never fathom it. George Warleggan, a blacksmith’s grandson, now commandeered his own small empire from this very building. As Dwight drew nearer, George emerged at the front door. Had he been waiting for him?

“Dwight!” called George, gesturing for a stable boy to see to the doctor’s horse.

“Hello, George,” smiled Dwight, dismounting and giving the servant a small nod of gratitude.

“Do come in.”

“Thank you.”

Dwight caught up with George and the pair made their way inside. With the occasional over-the-shoulder smile, the latter led his companion through the expansive halls of Cardew into an airy, ornately decorated drawing room. Dwight’s wide eyes darted around the room before settling on a round mahogany table against the far wall, upon which lay two pots of tea and various rich-looking cakes and pastries. He gave a small smile and let out a breathy laugh. George turned quickly to face his friend.

“Oh my, is it too much?”

“Of course not. I'm flattered, George.”

George’s face pinkened quite perceptively. “That is a relief. Would you like to sit?”

“Thank you.”

Both men moved to sit at once, George choosing a seat to the left of the table, and Dwight opting for the seat nearest to a large French window, facing his companion. The latter gave a contented hum at how comfortable the upholstered, high-backed chairs were in comparison to his own bare wooden stools. For a moment, neither moved or said a word -- perhaps Dwight’s fear of dissonance was not unfounded. After a minute or so, though, George spoke:

“I'm sorry, Dwight.”

“Whatever for? We haven't talked in months.”

“Precisely. You saved my life, and I have not accounted for it in the slightest. I cut you off. I thought that this afternoon would make up for my months of silence but I realise now how foolish and shallow that notion is. Forgive me, Dwight, you must truly think me so shallow.” He stared at the untouched food and drink and sighed deeply.

“George…of course not, you do not owe me anything. I am a physician. I was obliged to you as my patient. You have done me no wrong.”

Dwight felt hollow at hearing his own words. He had missed George dearly in the months they had been apart, that was undoubtedly true, but had he known the guilt it would cause the banker for them to be apart, he would never have left his side in the first place. Dwight had seen a vulnerability and sensitivity in George that he did not reveal to many; he knew the lament separation had caused him in the past. To bring him out of his depressive rut, to give him something to believe in, and then to leave without a word was a shallow thing to do; he realised this now. He may have been a physician, but first and foremost Dwight considered himself an honest and affectionate man, and the man before him had an unbearable look of sorrow in his eyes - the same look he had seen months before, albeit more subtle.

“George,” Dwight began, “it is I who should apologise to you. I neglected to contact you knowing full well the state of mind you were in. It’s true that I may have cured you temporarily, but I should have followed up, seen how you were. I wanted to, as well, but never did so out of cowardice -- I was worried that, now you no longer required my help, we would resort to our former bitterness.”

“I honestly believe I can never feel ill towards you again, Dwight. You helped me profoundly and for that I am eternally grateful. Sincerely, you were kinder to me than anyone.” George smiled a genuine smile for the first time in their encounter. “What do you say we forget about tea?”

Dwight smiled back, and suddenly George stood up and placed a hand on the backrest of the opposite chair. The medic arose, and George led him into the adjacent room; there, the two men nestled on opposite ends of a chaise lounge. It was George who broke the second silence:

“I must tell you…”

“Yes?”

“I was avoiding you rather…intentionally.”

“Why?” Dwight looked a jot hurt.

“N-no, not because of you, or anything you did. I-I…” It was rather unlike George to stumble over his words. “It was due to the fact that, ah…”

“Are you okay, George?”

“I had grown rather…attached.”

“Oh, please don't worry yourself, I would never think you overbearing.”

“No, you don't understand.”

“Oh?”

“I had grown… _too_ attached.” George gave Dwight a look that appeared as if he was attempting to bore holes in the man’s skull with his gaze.

Dwight’s cheeks flushed and his mouth formed a small ‘o’ as realisation flooded his brain. For months, he had put similar thoughts of his own aside in shame and dismissal. He had repeatedly scolded himself for developing such feelings for a man who was essentially his vulnerable patient; now, though, they resurfaced at a higher volume than they had ever appeared before. As he searched for an appropriate response to George’s confession, it felt as if his heart was attempting to escape the confines of his chest; he would be entirely unsurprised if George could see it beating through the numerous layers of clothing that concealed it. He could not act as if this were a woman stood before him, could he? What if he had entirely misunderstood and George simply admired him as a friend and physician? When he looked into the banker’s eyes again and found that they were brimming with tears, however, all reason flew from Dwight’s mind and in an instant the gap between the men had closed.

George made a small noise that was equal parts surprise and approval, and brought his right hand up to the doctor’s face. With his left, he made a subtle attempt to wipe at the tears that had spilled when he closed his eyes. Pulling away -- for want of air rather than love -- both men smiled softly and Dwight looked through his lashes at the tearful banker.

“George.”

“Dwight.”

The corners of his mouth still irreversibly upturned, Dwight pulled George into a tight hug. The latter audibly exhaled and placed his head between Dwight’s chin and shoulder, burrowing his face into the taller man's neck. His hair smelled predictably like lavender and powder, Dwight noted with a concealed smirk. They stayed like this for a matter of minutes, Dwight’s hand threaded in George's curls and the banker occasionally humming contentedly. After a while spent in now-comfortable silence, there came a knock on the door from that same manservant that had visited Dwight’s house that morning. The pair quickly uprighted themselves and George invited the man in. He was carrying a silver plate with a single wax-sealed note upon on it.

“For Dr. Enys, sir.”

“Thank you, Percy.” George accepted the note with an appreciative nod and passed it to the physician as the servant -- Percy -- flounced out of the room.

Upon opening and reading the note, Dwight gave a heavy sigh. He looked up at George and pouted theatrically, handing it back for the man opposite him to read for himself.

“Ah. Called away to Sawle.” George read, the disappointment thick in his throat.

“I’m afraid so.”

The pair stood simultaneously and embraced once more, though more briefly this time. Dwight placed a fleeting peck on the shorter man’s cheek before taking up his satchel and throwing it over one shoulder.

“Thank you...for the tea.”

George chuckled and, with that, Dwight was away.


End file.
